


you did this?

by yawnralphio



Series: Fictober20 [3]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, fictober20, it's not buddie but it's not NOT buddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yawnralphio/pseuds/yawnralphio
Summary: Buck wakes up to find he's not alone.(Spoilers for 2x18)
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: Fictober20 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967260
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	you did this?

Buck’s body woke him up, and it took several sluggish seconds for his brain to follow. He blinked slowly up at his ceiling, trying to remember where he was, when he was, trying to make sense of the warm sunlight streaking through the windows behind his head. After some time passed - it could have been a minute, could have been five - he registered the buzzing in his ears. That might have been what woke him. Another few minutes and he realized what it was. Music, so quiet he couldn’t make out any words, floated towards him from the kitchen. He didn’t remember putting anything on, but then, codeine had that effect on some people.

He pushed himself to sit up. Moving at all felt like swimming through thick mud, and he normally only felt that way after a particularly heavy workout, the kind he did when he was upset and needed a physical outlet for his feelings. He had to lean back on his hands.

Now exposed to the air, he felt the sweat cooling all down his back. If he looked, he knew his pillow and sheets would be damp. It was yet another reaction to his painkillers. Waking up drenched in sweat was nothing new, and it almost made him miss the hospital. At least there, someone would wipe him down every day. Now that he had to do it himself, it didn’t seem like much of a priority.

Buck sniffed at his armpit and winced. It had been five days - a week, maybe, since he’d been discharged - and he was losing the battle to ignore the smell. He moved to put his feet on the floor, his cast thudding against the wood. He grunted at the dull ache pushing through the haze.

A moment later, the music stopped, and he tipped his head. Something swelled in him, filling his chest from the belly up. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Then, “Buck?”

Footsteps sounded below him, and soon Eddie appeared, skipping two steps at a time as he bounded up the stairs. He wore an oversized white Henley, one of his favorites, and an old pair of jeans, and a crooked smile. He was also shoeless.

Buck blinked, frowning at his bare feet. “Hi.” His voice sounded wrong, hoarse and far away. He cleared his throat and stuck a finger in his ear like he could manually clear the cotton fogging his brain.

Eddie crossed over to him, holding out a hand.

Buck ignored him in favor of looking around for his crutches. It was only after he’d bent over, checking under the bed, that he remembered losing them under the railing the night before. They had clattered noisily past the rustic hanging bulbs, possibly shattering one.

He took Eddie’s hand and together, they got him standing. It took almost all of his energy, and he sagged against Eddie’s side, his arm snaking up and around Eddie’s neck. He could feel the rumbling of Eddie’s voice against his body, and looked up, frowning again as he registered that Eddie had been talking.

“What?”

Eddie laughed, the sound vibrating into him where their ribs pressed together. “Come on, let’s get you downstairs.” They made slow progress down to the first floor of Buck’s apartment, not only because Buck was still shaking off the remnants of his drugs, but because he was trying to place the feeling that something had changed.

After Eddie deposited him at the dining table, Buck continued looking deeper into the apartment. He swept his eyes in an arc and finally realized what was different: The last time he’d been conscious, there had been takeout containers scattered through the kitchen, a few in the living room. Clothes strewn about, left where they were because he couldn’t be bothered to take them upstairs with him once he’d taken them off. Dishes piled in the sink, more left in various places.

Okay, so he might have been wallowing in his self pity, but cleaning up with only one leg to stand on was hard. An almost impossible task, especially with physical therapy sapping most of his energy during his waking hours.

His eyes landed on Eddie standing at the stove with his back to the apartment, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. The kitchen filled with the smell of whatever was cooking, and Buck’s stomach rumbled as if in affirmation that it was indeed appetizing.

Buck shoved his chair back and hauled himself up, using the table and then the island to pull himself along. He made it around the corner before Eddie turned.

Amusement and exasperation crossed his face in equal measures, but he didn’t protest; instead, he stepped away from the stove, allowing Buck to once again use him as a crutch.

Buck did so, slinging his arm over Eddie’s shoulders for stability as he leaned over the pot to take a deep sniff. His mouth watered.

“What is this godly creation?” he groaned, straightening back up. Eddie’s grip loosened, but he didn’t pull away. His hand moved from its place on Buck’s ribs down to his hip, keeping their sides pressed together.

Eddie picked up the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir with, and blew on it for a moment before leveling the mouthful in Buck’s direction.

“Abuela’s recipe. She makes it whenever Christopher or I get sick. I asked her to make some for you.”

Buck moaned at the flavor and sagged against Eddie, overtaken by bliss. Eddie watched him with a soft smile. He tossed the spoon into the sink and took out a new one as Buck licked at the soup that had dripped onto his chin. He took the towel from Eddie’s shoulder and wiped his mouth, then tossed it down with a sigh. Something prickled up the back of his neck, an unpleasant feeling that took him a long, quiet moment to place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked carefully, almost afraid of the answer. The fog lifted more and more with each passing minute, and he realized he hated the effects of the painkillers more than anything. It was impossible to think clearly, like trying to run on a treadmill that was cemented in place.

Eddie didn’t look at him.

“Bobby called the hospital. They told him you’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Then he told me, and you didn’t answer your phone, so I came over to check on you.”

“You did this? While I was asleep?” Buck gestured around them, at the clean counters, the spotless floors. He finally noticed the sound of the washing machine going and his frown deepened. His face and neck grew warm imagining what Eddie must have thought when he walked in.

“Yeah, you’re dead to the world when you’re not on painkillers,” Eddie said, on the verge of laughter. He looked sideways at Buck and seemed to think better of it, schooling the amusement off his face and out of his voice. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” he added softly, and his arm tightened incrementally at Buck’s hip.

“Just because I can’t clean? I’ve been working out,” Buck defended, gesturing at his bare chest with an awkward flex of his biceps.

Eddie shook his head. “This stuff takes time. If you rush it, you’ll only make it worse.”

Buck huffed at him. He indicated the soup and said, “Is this ready yet?”

With a nod, Eddie let him go, and reached for the cabinet that held serving bowls. Buck settled into the corner of the countertop, grateful for the distraction of food. Eddie filled a bowl and passed it to Buck along with a spoon.

He ate it while standing there and told himself it was so he could get seconds faster, but in reality he didn’t know if he’d make it back to the table.

The soup disappeared rapidly, and Buck set the bowl down, wiping at his mouth again with the dish towel.

“More?” Eddie asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Should probably let that settle. I… can’t remember the last time I ate,” Buck admitted, averting his gaze to the floor.

Without a word, Eddie reached out to shut off the stove. Whatever opinion he had, he kept it to himself.

“Where’s Christopher?” Buck asked, desperate to find something else to talk about.

“He's…” Eddie licked his lips and rubbed at the back of his neck. “At a friend’s.”

Buck narrowed his eyes and ducked his head, trying to catch Eddie’s gaze.

“I didn’t know what shape you’d be in,” Eddie caved, the words falling out in a rush. “If you’d want him to see you like this.”

Emotion clawed up Buck’s throat, choking him up faster than he expected. He pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling and looked, unseeing, toward the far end of the apartment.

“Thank you,” he managed quietly, but it sounded more like he was saying sorry.

Eddie stepped in front of him, and there was no way for him to escape when Eddie wrapped him up. He tightened his arms around Buck, and all Buck could do was hug him back. He pressed his face into Eddie’s shoulder and closed his eyes against the tears threatening at the corners.

“It’s okay,” Eddie whispered, his hand smoothing up and down Buck’s back. He held Buck tight, telling him over and over, telling him that he’d get through it, that his life would be waiting for him until he was back to full capacity.

They stayed wrapped around each other for a long time, Buck clinging to Eddie and his words like a lifeline.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://yawnralphio.tumblr.com).
> 
> Reblog [here](https://yawnralphio.tumblr.com/post/630978576934731777/3-you-did-this-fox-911-post-2x18)


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